


Midday’s windless calm

by Mocha_Flavored_Jelly_Beans



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Consent, Humanity, Loss, M/M, Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2005746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mocha_Flavored_Jelly_Beans/pseuds/Mocha_Flavored_Jelly_Beans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First ever oneshot: AU that is kinda like Beauty and The Beast, but different. Rated 'M' for swears and mention of the sexuals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midday’s windless calm

**Author's Note:**

> I have another Story called 'Sunrise' and some of the themes I wish to explore were taking too long to come up. So I wrote my first ever oneshot to get them off of my chest. It escalated pretty quickly, but I tried to make it believable. This is also my very first posting on this site, so if I messed up something, please tell me. Also, I tried to edit it, but my sister wouldn't stop talking to me and making me laugh so if there are any errors, it's totally her fault :)
> 
> Feel free to talk to me, I'm totally friendly.

_Midday’s windless calm_

_-By Mocha Flavored Jelly Beans_

 

Aster’s dreams were always similar: There was a feeling of unadulterated fear so compelling he’d wake not understanding how it hadn’t killed him, the flash of adrenaline almost as strong, and then there was that terrible screaming that filled his ears and ran through his blood, changing everything he felt into a searing cold. He could never take the screaming; even with his heart pounding heavily in his ears, he could still hear it. The screams were usually what woke him. On really bad nights, Aster woke with a scream of his own, often tearing his throat. Sometimes he’d walk unto his balcony, feeling sick, and vomit over the edge.

There were plenty of things that Aster had forgotten in the last one hundred years, but even with his memories fading into the dark recesses of his mind, the pain was ever-present. It followed him out of his dreams and into his life.

On the other nights (which Aster couldn’t honestly classify as ‘good’), he would be saved, and it was never anything short of glorious. He never could see who rescued him, but there was always a flash of those eyes; bottomless pools of crystal blue, cool and refreshing, open to dive into forever. They called to him, and he followed them through the darkness, feeling their warmth all over and inside of him, tingling almost like static.

 Whoever it was only ever pulled him out, the others still trapped in the black forest; and Aster always reached for them, but he was always forced to let them go. They were most likely still screaming. At this point Aster wouldn’t know, he couldn’t hear it over the pull of those eyes. They eclipsed everything else, until he couldn’t see, hear, or feel anything but that hypnotic warm stare; gentle and knowing and reassuring. It was beautiful, _they_ were beautiful. He was very grateful for them, because he despised that screaming. If he never heard it again, it would be too soon.

It wasn’t just that the screams were filled with terrible anguish (which was enough to drive anyone way pass the point of insanity), it wasn’t even that they belonged to those he loved most, it was the fact that they echoed through with his terrible failure. It all made his ears ring, his heart break; shattering into millions of pieces, each one dripping with their suffering and Aster’s _knowing_ ; it was his fault. He hadn’t saved them, he wasn’t strong enough.

Whether his savoir was present or not, he’d wake up sweating, and the adrenaline running through him caused him to shake. He’d stopped crying sixty years ago, but his eyes always watered. If he had the energy, he would walk through the castle he called home and out onto its grounds, it always helped to calm him. The castle grounds were overgrown and out of control; the pathways cracked, fountains filled with stagnant rain water, plants growing unhindered. To Aster, it was beautiful, broken as it was. Anyway, it reminded him of himself, not the beauty of course, but the brokenness. There was no one to tend to him, either.

His raw hurt and anger at the injustice of it all are what kept him from being aware that he was lonely. Had someone asked him, he would have told them that he was not lonely (though he desperately wanted his family back), and he would not have been lying simply because he did not know. His hurt kept him from being aware of a great many things. Hadn’t even considered any of it in at least one hundred years.

Aster didn’t have the room for such things, it all left along with _them_ , with his humanity.

Sometimes when he woke, especially near dawn could hear the songs of the creatures that lived within the thick forest that surrounded his castle. Fairies, nymphs, sprites, and the like. Aster really wanted to hate them, and he did at first. He’d even tried to set the forest ablaze, but their enchantments had protected them, and he’d hated them all the more. At some point, however, his hatred at them dissipated, and rose anew; he hated himself and only had room for that, he’d let them get captured, and then he hadn’t rescued them. It was difficult to blame the fairies, because they weren’t actually terrible on purpose, they just _were_. It was their nature and Aster had a hard time holding them at fault for it, especially when it was far more logical to blame himself.

There were times when he awoke to hear terrified screaming (often right before dawn; their powers strongest then, and at midday before sunset). It would accompany their singing, and the horrible crunching that sometimes seeped its way into Aster’s dreams, even though he hadn’t actually heard any all that time ago. There were times he indulged in watching people be torn apart, smug satisfaction riding along his lips, blazing out of his sharp eyes. Aster had lost everything, and he liked to see others suffer. Sometimes he’d go out to see if the Fay would share. They often wouldn’t turn him away, delighted with his malice, not as saturated as their own, but close enough. As time went on, they turned him away more and more, greedy. People didn’t wander into the woods as often, finally having learned that no one who did came back. Sometimes, they’d still let him join; to play in the blood and dance with them, celebrating the magic of their sacrifice. They fed the forest blood, and it prospered them.

Aster knew that if the Fay wanted fresh meat, as they so often did, they would have to go and get it (occasionally they would sacrifice animals, but human blood was much more powerful). Unfortunately for them, their magic dictated that they needed consent for their harvests. Unattended children were considered to have been consented over, because their parents hadn’t protected them. This did not sit easy with Aster, as it had happened to him; he’d lost his little girl. The Fay liked to take human children, leaving behind their changelings who never lasted very long in the human world, away from the necessary enchantments and around too much cold iron. He’d caught them sacrificing the spirits of stolen children to their god for forgiveness and prosperity and he’d tried to stop them. The magic always held him at bay (more cautious of him after the last time) , knowing his intent and never letting him cross; making him ill. Even when he was strong enough to rip them apart (at least a few), he was no match for the magic of the Fae. It was ancient, and they were powerful.

Imagine Aster’s surprise, then, the night it actually worked and he saved someone. He hadn’t tried to save any of the stolen children in a long time, because he knew it was impossible. Mostly, he tried to block his ears with alcohol he was able to procure via his own grape vines, or fermented cacao, flavored with vanilla. He never bothered to take care of anything anymore, but his gardens and even his animals thrived none the less, a byproduct of all the magic that flooded the ground from the forest.

He’d been sleeping, and he had screamed himself to wakefulness. He wasn’t sure whether or not he felt the need to retch, so he hopped out onto the balcony, shaking. His nausea alleviated. The night air was cold; it nipped at his nose and his ears. Aster looked over the balcony, curious. The Fay were gathering in a circle. He could see them. Ever since Aster had been cursed for unsettling the natural order, he himself was no longer natural. He was big, fast, and strong now. It would have been something to admire, had it not come with such a terrible price. He had excellent vision and hearing; Aster could hear and see further than any human, even in the darkness.

 Whatever it was the Fay were gathering around, Aster couldn’t see, they were standing in the way. But he could guess; they were usually only gathered around something bleeding. He thought maybe he’d join them; he could do with inflicting pain on someone else to forget his own.

_Might as well._

He made his way downstairs, his nails dragging through the dust on his massive stone banister. Everything was stone here, hard and cold. Aster had tried very hard to emulate its coldness.

Walking through his gardens to reach the forest (which was just on the other side of an iron gate that ran around his entire castle, bet the Fay hated _that)_ Aster picked a rose. It was always nice to offer something to the Fay, they liked for tribute to be paid to them. The Fay who thrived off nature liked flowers and herbs best, next of course, to blood. He didn’t have time to catch an animal.

He laid the rose at the ground where his land stopped and their land began. There were no real measurements to mark Fay territory, but Aster could feel the thickness of their magic, the pressure it put behind his eyes was almost unbearable, but it also made his skin tingle, his blood heated through, and he wanted to roll in the feeling (very much like how his savior made him feel in his dreams). It was the same magic that they used to lure travelers into their woods so that they could be feasted on. Aster had long ago found that he had a natural resistance to their lure, he could feel it, but he could choose to ignore it. Not like so many others.

He waited for a Fairy to come and either except him and his rose, or bare teeth; a sign for him to leave, the promise of a nasty wound if he didn’t. They couldn’t kill him on their own ground, not with his resistance to their fairy lure, because he wouldn’t give them permission. Humans who got bitten and were not treated usually died eventually from the infection, Aster didn’t have to worry about that, because he wasn’t human anymore. But it was better to respect their customs, because those bites _hurt_.

One darted over quickly enough, they didn’t all have wings, but some did, like this one. She was beautiful, like they all were. At least on the surface. This one was covered in feathers, emerald green and purple (the same color as her eyes). She looked very much like a hummingbird and Aster knew that she would accept his rose. She twirled it in her hands to examine it, and then bowed to him, to let him know that it was safe to pass. He nodded in acknowledgment as his bloodlust skyrocketed and his headache lessened. It was partly their magical influence, and partly how much of humanity he’d left behind that made Aster want to lap up blood from the forest floor. He was ready to extend his claws and tear into flesh.

He froze. Aster was used to the Fay gathering around strapping handsome men, which were the easiest to influence when their vanity was appealed to, but what he saw made him sick. It was a boy really, who couldn’t have been more than twenty. He was pretty badly wounded, they had bitten him for sure and probably scratched him up pretty well; there was blood in his hair, all over his Clothes. They would only kill him moments before dawn, but they had definitely had their fun beforehand. He was unconscious perhaps from the blood lost, but maybe from fear. The Fay were waiting for their magic to reach its peak before they devoured this poor child, he could feel its steady climb. Aster knew he had only seconds to act.

He ran for the boy, on quick powerful legs, which, ironically were courtesy of the Fay. Seeing him laying there called to Aster, and he had an overwhelming urge to protect him. The Fay’s magic tried to turn him away (the same way it kept him out when he’d tried to harm them in the past with fire), the pressure behind his eyes was building back up rapidly, but he had already been invited in and he shrugged it off. Their consent laws worked both ways, it seemed. He snatched him up. Aster wasn’t even sure if the boy was still breathing by the time he made it safely within the gate, Fairies snapping their sharp teeth and trying to snatch the boy out of his massive arms. That hummingbird was quick. Aster was sorry that he couldn’t stop the new injuries from the Fay sinking their claws in and trying to tear him away.

Aster carried him inside. It was true that, after having been cursed, he possessed incredible strength, but even if he hadn’t, it would have still been _nothing_ to carry this small creature. He was so frail. Aster wondered if this boy’s skin was always so pale, of if it was because he’d lost too much blood.

He realized he was worried.

There were many spare bedrooms here, Aster chose one that was close to his chambers, but not too close. Just down the hall. He figured if the boy screamed for help he could stride there easy, but he didn’t want to be the one causing the screaming, he’d keep his distance for a while if he could. Aster placed the boy on the bed. It was covered, like everything else, in expensive cloth; mostly hues of purple, surrounded by gold. Everything covered in skirts and tassels. Even dusty and unused the bed was immense and impressive. Luxurious wood finely carved to match equally tasteful furniture, a straight chair with a desk, a table by the bed, and a longer curved chair for lounging. Aster pulled some covers over the boy even though he was sweating, because it was cold outside.

There was something about the warmth created carrying him close that was certainly recognizable, Aster didn’t have time to think of it now. He’d have to go into his gardens, where he was sure the fairies would follow on the outside of the gate, glaring and cursing in their language. He sighed, there wasn’t much they could do to him now, but he had no doubt they would never leave him be, if they could think of a way to get revenge, they would have it. As if they hadn’t already taken _everything_ from him anyway.

Aster knew about healing from the life that he’d lost long ago; but if he hadn’t already had the worst headache imaginable from the Fay’s magic, recalling what he’d need would have given him one. He knew about his own gardens, from having wondered them for more than one hundred years. His new extraordinary sense of smell helped him find most of what he needed, without it, it might have taken too much time to gather his supplies. Aster would need lavender, rosemary, chamomile, cayenne, and juniper leaves. He hoped that’d be enough; the boy had been badly scratched and bitten even worse.

There was a freshwater lake to the west that had cleaner water than that of his well, but Aster did not want to be away from the boy for too long and it was a far walk, even with his powerful legs, even if he ran there, it would take too much time. It wasn’t likely he’d wake, but Aster wanted to be sure to began treatment as soon as possible. Well water would have to do; it was to be boiled anyway.

He worked for almost an hour, slow and thorough. He wiped at the blood carefully, after shedding the boy’s clothing, no great feat, because it was so badly torn it all but fell off. The blood in his hair was the worst to get out; it clung to his white stands like its life depended on it. Aster ended up having to pour water directly onto the boy’s head, wetting the bed. He dried his hair thoroughly because of the chill in the air; he didn’t need to get sick. His wounds were not difficult to clean and dress. He swabbed around them very slowly, because he knew this child would be in enough pain upon waking and really didn’t want to exacerbate his injuries. He had put cayenne on strait away, using his nails to simply shred it into pieces; Aster was trying to stop the bleeding. Boiling the lavender and rosemary, to act as antiseptics, filled him with hope that the wounds wouldn’t get infected. Which, in all honesty, wasn’t likely; fairies were absolutely filthy and Aster had no way of knowing how long they’d had him there bleeding, the wounds festering. The chamomile was to calm his own nerves.

There was something about this boy, his beautiful alabaster skin (scarred as it would be now), unusual hair, and tiny frame, that made Aster anxious about whether or not he would recover. He wrapped him all over in juniper leaves, tying cloth afterwards to hold them in place.

Aster, satisfied with his new found skills as a doctor, made his tea. Chamomile grew very close to his lavender; he wasted no time in simply snatching it on the way.

 He sat in the chaise lounge, drinking, and watching this boy sleep. It had been a long time since he’d had anything to take care of and he didn’t know how he felt exactly. There was an overall pleasure to know that this boy, in particular, might just be alright by Aster’s direct influence, there was another part of him that vividly remembered that he’d only found him because he had wanted to take part in ripping him to pieces. He shook his head, what was he doing? He’d never saved anyone, ever. And aside from the taken children and his own family, he had never wanted to. He was young, Aster knew, but he was no child. That meant he had, like all the others, wandered into to woods on his own accord. Aster found he didn’t care, usually he thought the people the fairies tore at had gotten what they deserved, being lured by the fairies to their deaths, but he was so young. And so, Aster thought, _beautiful_.

His green eyes narrowed in annoyance. This was going to get out of control, he had a feeling.

As soon as he saw the monster Aster had become, he’d run screaming beyond the safe iron of the gate, where the fairies would make quick work of him. Or maybe, Aster shuddered to think, slow work of him, because he had gotten away the first time. Vengeful things that they were.

He needed to go back to his own room. There was no real reason for Aster to be sitting here, watching. He would have preferred to walk through the gardens, but the fairies had taunted and threatened him when he’d gone to get his herbs and he’d had enough of them to last a lifetime. The sun would be completely up soon, and then he’d go, because they would be asleep.

He felt that it would be a good idea to write a note in case the boy woke up.

‘ _Dear boy_ ,’ he scrawled delicately. It wasn’t so easy, post transformation, to wield a pen.

 _‘My name is Aster, master of this castle. You’re welcome to wander its grounds and  its rooms if your injuries permit, but do **not** go beyond the gate, the Fay would be all too glad to finish what they started, and kill you only if you are lucky_.’

Maybe it was a bit much, Aster knew it sounded dramatic when he read it back, but he hadn’t exactly spoken to anyone except for himself in a long time and maybe it would make the boy more careful to keep himself alive.

Aster filled a basin with hot water (it would be cool in a while) and set it next to the bed. He figured the boy might want to wash himself again. He added a chamber pot for good measure. There was an outhouse, but he didn’t know if the boy would be able to go anywhere without being reinjured. He hadn’t even been wearing any shoes and his feet were going to be very sore for days to come, it was obvious he had trekked through the woods (goaded, no doubt, by fairy song) barefoot; his feet had been just as bloody as everything else.

Back in his own room Aster, his ears big and powerful, could still hear the boy breathing evenly. He wondered briefly if it was because he’d been listening to the sound for over an hour and was therefore more attuned to it than he otherwise would have been. He needed sleep, he was sick of all the questions he had to ask himself about this boy and why he felt…whatever it is that he felt. Protective… maybe something more.

**_~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~_**

It was midday, two days later; Aster was awoken by the sound of the boy moving about the castle. He had washed him, redressed his wounds (there was, thankfully, no sign of infection that he could see, but Aster would have to keep an eye on him), and changed his bed linens twice; all the while the boy had slept. Sometimes, stressfully, he would toss, his eyebrows pulling together. When Aster was near, he’d go to him and speak softly, and he always calmed right down.

Aster had developed a bad habit, in just two nights, of watching the boy sleep. Cleaning his wounds and watching him sleep afterward had Aster feeling appallingly close to him.

 _This boy will be the death of me_.

He hadn’t even woken up then and he was driving Aster out of his mind, anyway.

Aster heard him whisper, “I’ll go outside!” the offense in his statement clear; Aster was sure he was refusing the chamber pot. He smiled, overly amused. Resisting the urge to tell him to lie back down and rest, he followed at a distance, not ready for the dramatic screaming and fear. He had redressed himself in old clothes that were too big (obviously he’d been through the drawers and cabinets) and it was endearing, because the clothing had once belonged to Aster. Aster watched him limp and wince in pain (his feet still wrapped in bandages), and couldn’t fathom why he wanted to stride over and pick him up instead of letting him walk. He stayed back, completely still.

Aster was well hidden, his great stone fortress was covered in heavy drapery (not that it mattered, there was soot on the windows) and a thick layer of dust in the air; he could even hear the boy coughing. Aster was no stranger to stealth and sneaking behind this boy to make sure he didn’t hurt himself was the easiest thing he’ d done since he’d saved him. He watched the boy stride confidently outside (obviously trying not to limp, though for all he knew no one was watching) and Aster was much more than impressed, watching this boy walk about, knowing the extent of his injuries. Most would have probably stayed in bed, or asked for help. The boy hadn’t even bothered trying to call to him.

Aster turned his back when the boy began to relieve himself (he hadn’t found the outhouse, and had picked a low bush instead), he turned back just to make sure he wasn’t going to wander out of the gate. He watched him for a while (maybe a bit longer, close to an hour) as he wondered slowly, painfully, through the gardens touching plants and sniffing their flowers, if he got lost, Aster could easily sniff him out and bring him back. He left.

He went to leave fruit in his room; sure he was hungry, possibly unable to navigate to the kitchen. Grapes and apples, colors that didn’t actually occur in nature and bigger than any others this boy was likely to ever see, influenced by the magic. Aster also left him water, and a lot of it, he would need very much to hydrate.

 _And to rest_.

The entire time Aster watched him limp around, he’d wanted to tell him to go back to bed before he got sick.

His eyes rested on the note he’d left the night before, outside of the door, in the hallway on a table that had once been decorated lovingly with flowers. The boy had answered. Aster smiled. He didn’t know why.

‘ _Aster? Interesting._

_I’m Jack. Thanks for saving my life, I’ll stay inside the gate, I’m not really ready to die. When can I see you?’_

If Aster’s note had been dramatic, Jack’s was juvenile. He chuckled. He wanted to answer, but wasn’t sure what to say. Was he wrong to read the last words as desperate? Anyway, Jack had a right to see who had saved his life. Aster would have been curious too.

‘ _Jack,_

 _Meet me for dinner? Stairs, nine_.” He’d scrawled it before he had really thought it all through. He nearly panicked. He supposed he could take the note so that the bo-Jack…wouldn’t see it.

He walked away, leaving it behind.

He decided the best way to get outside was to simply jump off the balcony of his room, because he didn’t want to meet Jack in the hallway.

Jack had a pretty decent sense of direction; he’d made it back to the castle safely. He was wondering through the halls, peeking into rooms, and Aster secretly hoped Jack was searching for him though he didn’t call out. Aster’s door was locked, so it was no problem at all. He wanted Jack to explore, to be comfortable here, because it looked like he’d be staying, and Aster very much wanted him to stay.

He wanted to walk and to think…and to bathe. He could groom himself in the lake’s icy water. He wasn’t sure what to feed his guest, he himself mostly ate raw meat that he’d chased down and ripped with his teeth, he thought more fruit would be strange for dinner, but he didn’t know if he’d be able to, in his new from, maneuver through the kitchen and cook something decent. He could always catch some fish. It was easy enough to prepare.

He’d cook it with fruit, which was good for the body, might help him heal better. Aster could at least make sure he got all different kinds; it was the most he could manage right now. He’d add some vegetables too.

After his bath, he picked what he could carry, and he cooked some of the vegetables that he got too; he wanted Jack to have hot food. The sky was dark. Aster could hear the Fay singing, whatever they were saying, he bet they were threatening him for last night, because it wasn’t the soothing sound he usually heard from them. It was harsh around the edges. Like a well laid threat, given under false security.

Aster was nervous, and it had nothing to do with the Fay’s anger. They couldn’t cross the gate, and he wasn’t about to leave.

There had been a time when he had a servant to do all this food preparation for him and he could hardly remember what he did before that. He knew he should go to the stairs; he wanted to, he wanted to see Jack, _all_ of Jack, his face animated and not unconscious. Although, he had to admit, he liked the vision of Jack sleeping way more than he should have. He wanted to hide. Once upon a time, he’d stalked into the forest full of deadly creatures, hell bent on destroying each one personally (though to be honest he was probably, at least at first, just trying to save his family, or the magic wouldn’t have let him through). But the idea that this boy would judge his sharp teeth and claws, and then run away, had him ready to start shaking.

Jack was turned away from him, examining a painting (closely in the darkness) that Aster had once been very proud indeed to own. It was expensive and much coveted. It’d been a gift for his wife, she had loved fine things and Aster had wanted to please her. It was one of few things he’d managed to not rip apart in anger, and he was surprised to even remember its back story.

“Try not to scream.”

In retrospect, that sounded threatening, and Jack whirling around with a yelp really should have been nothing short of expected. He was only startled, though, because he hadn’t known Aster was there. Jack couldn’t really see; it was too dark on this side of the room. Aster had forgotten and had looked away immediately, because he was preparing for the screams.

“Aster?”

The way Jack said his name was filled with familiarity, like he’d been saying it for years. It made Aster shiver; he wanted to hear it again.

_Oh damn, out of control, I knew it!_

 “Maybe we could get some light in here,” Jack laughed a little. He sounded nervous too, probably because Aster had scared him. _Great_.

He sighed, maybe it was best to get it all out of the way. He lit a candelabra where it hung on the wall, it illuminated everything; his sharp teeth, jagged claws, fur.

 He still didn’t look at Jack. Even when he heard the gasp, surprised and terrified.

_Yeah, that’s right, take it all in._

“Well, then, you don’t look at all how I expected,” his laugh this time tingled with bitterness. Sarcasm.

“But I suppose I was quite the sight last night, just from how many bandages I have, I’m sure it was _nasty_!” Aster was astonished, what kind of person sees a monster over six feet tall, furry and deadly, and wonders about how badly _they_ looked when they were nearly someone’s living sacrifice and dinner.

Aster looked up at him in surprise, and he felt his head spin. The rush of heat was immediate, their eyes met and Aster felt like he was on fire inside and out. Jack’s eyes widened, Aster thought he probably felt it too.

Those eyes, they were _the_ eyes, from his dreams. Crystal; blue and endless. It was Aster’s turn for a terrified gasp.

“It’s you,” he said, before he could stop himself, “You’re here. You’re real.” He could hear his heart pound in his ears. Over it, he could just register that his voice sounded accusatory.

“I’m… what?”

“I dreamed of you. I-I-”

“-asked me to save you…didn’t you?” Jack finished. It was a question, surely by the way it was phrased, but Jack asked it in a way that meant he knew already. Aster didn’t know what to think.

 He’d been saved. Many times. He didn’t ever remember asking. How did Jack know? _How did he know?_

“Come here,” Aster told him, desperate. They were going to sit and talk about what ever this was. He led Jack towards the space next to the kitchen, it would have been a dining room, but it had no door, just a stone archway. It was more of an alcove than anything else. It was set up like a dining room, a table covered in food, drink, and candles (he’d pushed the table from where it usually sat in the kitchen). He offered Jack a cup filled with alcoholic chocolate, flavored with vanilla to counter the bitterness. Jack accepted with a grateful look. Aster needed one himself, maybe two. This was _crazy_. He watched Jack drink.

“Eat something, but tell me. _Everything_ ,” if Aster sounded domineering, which he didn’t mean to, it didn’t register to him; he only heard his own desperation. Jack talked to him through mouthfuls of food. Aster would, when he had the time to think it through, be very surprised that Jack didn’t hesitate. He was as open as his eyes were, Aster was elated.

“I dreamt too; of you. Your voice, your name. You called to me for help. When you wrote me that note, I thought maybe the name was a weird coincidence. I was kinda hoping it wasn’t. When you spoke just now I starting thinking I’d finally lost it, like maybe I wanted to find you so badly I imagined this whole thing. If it wasn’t for the pain, I’d think I was still asleep. Anyway, finding out you weren’t human was even more of a shocker, I can assure you. You were always human in my dreams,” Jack leaned forward in his chair, facing Aster, staring upward. Even sitting, Aster’s height was remarkable, especially compared to Jack. But he felt very small with the way Jack’s eyes took him all in.

“Your eyes are the same though. It’s you, it has to be.” Jack spoke so softly that Aster would never be sure if he had been expected to hear the last part. Aster leaned forward without thinking.

“Might as well tell you then, mate; I’ve been following those eyes of yours out of the darkness in my dreams for twenty years now.”

“Seventeen,” Jack told him, swallowing a mouthful of food.

“Pardon?”

“I’m seventeen. I’ve been dreaming of you for as long as I can remember, pretty much my whole life. You’ve been dreaming of me my whole life too, haven’t you?” Jack said, calm and astute.

Time meant something different to Aster now, since the only way he could die would be to allow the Fay to rip him to pieces. When you were going to live forever, it made very little sense to count each year, but thinking about it now, he guessed it had been about seventeen years. Trippy.

 “How is this _possible_?” he asked, though he honestly doubted Jack could give him a real answer, he seemed just as surprised and confused. Though, he was taking it with much more grace.

The both stopped talking, staring at one another. Aster shook his head. Jack wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The heat had to be getting to him too.

“My dad used to tell me stories when I was growing up. He really liked stories with magic and action,” Jack eventually volunteered, a small smile playing across his face. From the reflective tone, Aster could guess that his father was probably gone now. He didn’t want to ask.

“He told me of the Fae folk, like all parents do. Most are supposed to be really bad. They like to kidnap kids and eat everyone they can get their hands on, right? I’m pretty sure he was talking about the kind that caught me last night. But, anyway, there are those who don’t so much like the torture thing. They’re nice, compared to the others I guess; some grant wishes, heal sickness, chase away nightmares...” Jack shrugged like it was all he could offer. Aster hung on his every word, he wanted to hear more. Everything. He’d never heard of any fairy being anything other than a complete asshole.

“If I had to guess, which I do, I’d say someone had been messing with our dreams, probably the sandman. He is supposed to be an all powerful fairy king; magic sand, healing powers, the _works_.” Jack ran a hand through his hair sighing, Aster wanted to know how it would feel to do that same. Cleaning blood out of his hair was not likely to feel anything like it, nevertheless it had been thrilling in its own way.

“You have a lot of nightmares, then mate?” he frowned, he had suffered for a long time with his nightmares, he didn’t wish that kind of pain on this poor boy. It did not, however, escape his notice that he hadn’t had any since he’d saved Jack from being eaten alive.

“Sometimes. But everything bad that ever happened when I was asleep, happened to you. Not to me. The scariest part was always trying to find you in time. You’d call for help and scream something terrible. When I was little I had gone looking for you in the woods a few times, just to get away from the screaming. Everyone had thought I’d gone crazy. Except my father.”

“You went looking for _me_?”

There was no way for Aster to become even more surprised, he was sure of it. He was disbelieving mostly because he was a monster and he could practically feel Jack’s innocence radiating off of his beautiful skin, he didn’t deserve for _anyone_ to try and save him, especially Jack. Jack smiled at his tone; Aster felt as if his heart was going to give out. His teeth sparkled like snow, white like his hair. Aster caught himself before he leaned forward again, he wanted to kiss him.

_Don’t you dare!_

“Dad told me that dreams were too powerful to ignore, but to stay out of the woods anyway. Guess he was very right about how unsafe they are,” he laughed once, a hand coming up to rest over some of his wounds, through his too-big clothes.

“Thanks again for saving me.”

“Anytime,” Jack smiled again, so did Aster, deadly teeth forgotten. Jack’s calm acceptance about his new form coupled with his complete honestly made him want to reveal himself in ways he had never imagined he would. He felt very trusting; the weight of it felt pretty severe. He took a deep breath, and a swallow of alcohol.

“Those damn fairies killed my family. It’s what my nightmares are always about. Then, sometimes, I’d see you, just your _eyes_ , really. You’d always help me find my way back. This is pretty strange, eh?”

“Really, after being compelled to walk all night through the forest barefoot and almost eaten, I’d say we are already _way_ past strange.” The laugh he gave was sarcastic yet again, and Aster figured it was his default reaction to stress. He poured Jack more chocolate liquor, which he drank immediately.  

Aster picked up some fruit, to give himself something to do, he’d lost his appetite (for food, at least) the second he had seen those eyes.

“How did they compel you, anyway?” Although Aster thought he probably knew.

“Oh, no, enough out of me! I’ve told you almost everything, _your_ turn.” The smile he gave was unrestrained and playful. Aster responded immediately, “What do you want to know?”

_I’m going to regret that._

“Were you always like this?” he gestured to Aster and he knew he was asking about him being a gigantic and monstrous rabbit. He should have known this was coming. He sighed.

“Walk with me?” Aster didn’t have it in him to tell this story and sit still. They both got up, Jack following him through the gardens. The fairies were still singing, Aster couldn’t tell if it had anything to do with him, maybe not this time, because it sounded peaceful, not like before.

Aster walked slowly, mindful of Jack’s wounds. The boy had walked around for hours and then slept awhile. Aster thought he was in pain.

The cold air and the lack of eye contact helped Aster think a little straighter, the heat was overwhelming and if he had stayed staring into those eyes he was going to kiss their owner. He saw Jack shake his head, as if to clear it, the cool air was helping him too.

Jack was even more beautiful in the moonlight; it kissed his skin in a way that made Aster want to repeat the gesture. He wanted to bathe Jack in his kisses too, and thought that he was going to have to calm down, because Jack hadn’t looked at all like he wanted to be kissed.  He was still pretty injured, limping behind Aster. If it hadn’t been for the constant smell of his blood though, he might have forgotten, so much had happened tonight. He told Jack to sit upon the stone bench, and he paced in front of him, paws laced together behind him.

He wanted to tell Jack everything, but it was hard. But he wanted Jack to _know_ him. He was slowly becoming disgusted with himself. Jack wasn’t much more than a child, and what did that make Aster?

But he had never had anyone to talk to him about it, except for the Fae that had cursed him, if his pleading for forgiveness counted as talking about it.  

“I can hardly believe it now, but there actually was a time when there weren’t any fairies in those woods outside,” he saw Jack shudder and he wondered how much of the attack he remembered. Aster had been bitten by the Fae more times than he could count (in the beginning he had threatened and provoked them, much like they had done him, and they had bitten him for it) and it really was pretty terrible. Poor boy.

“So when I was a boy, and yes, I was a _human_ boy, my parents, too, told me stories of the Fae. Not of adventures, mind you, but rather, of a terrible curse that was placed upon my family.”

“Human, really? And this curse, it turned you into a rabbit?”

“No. believe it or not, that was an entirely different curse.”

“You’ve been cursed twice? Who gets cursed twice?” his eyes widened in disbelief, Aster couldn’t stop looking at them.

“Are you finished?” He had no patience for this.

Jack’s amusement should have made Aster very angry, this was his life and his circumstances had very nearly driven him crazy. A few days ago he had been willing to rip him apart. Now he was being silently laughed at and he was slowly seeing the humor. It wasn’t comical, but Jack was right, it was pretty exceptional to be cursed twice.

“You know I could rip you to shreds right now, yeah?” Aster tried to flood his tone with cruelty, but even he could hear the smile in his voice.

“You won’t.” The way he said it was so incredibly smug that Aster seriously considered lunging at him.

“Someone already beat me to it, anyway,” Aster couldn’t resist the snide comment, his eyes narrowing, his mouth turning upward in self-satisfaction. Jack, surprised, lifted his eyebrows, then he laughed and Aster was pleased that no real offense had been taken.

“Okay, I should have seen that one coming. Go on with your story, I’m done teasing you, _bunny_.”

“Next time, just so you know, I’m just gonna let the fairies eat you.”

“You’d miss me.” The look Jack fixed him with was knowing, arrogant, and amused. Aster wanted to tell him where to shove his confidence, and where to go with himself afterward.

He sighed, “probably,” he smirked, because he was pleased by the wit passing between them.

He could see now that if something did happen to Jack he would very much miss him. Even the little things that he had no right to have taken notice of, because he hardly knew this boy. Jack’s half-smile made Aster feel even hotter than before. There was heat _everywhere_. He’d never felt anything like it. Chemistry? Magic? He didn’t know what it was.

He cleared his throat, hoping his head would follow.

“Go on” Jack told him, his tone drawn out and playful, as though he wasn’t the one who had interrupted. Aster glared at him.

“The story went, at least what I remember of it, that my ancestor, a sorcerer whose name I cannot recall, had spent some time in an enchanted mountain, learning the ways of the Fae, their magic. He was looking for a way to destroy them all. I suppose it’s impossible, but he did lead a war against them and their numbers were greatly diminished. It used to be that fairies were everywhere; they were, after the war, driven into hiding.” He looked over at Jack, who was looking very interested, perhaps he had never heard of the Fae war, where Aster was from it was a common story, so common in fact that-

“I didn’t believe a word of it. They were bedtime stories and as I grew older the more I doubted. I had seen nothing of fairies or magic and it all just seemed kind of ridiculous.” He heard Jack snicker, and realized that, lost in his own story, in his memories, he had looked away. The heat hadn’t even vanished this time. Aster wondered if whatever it was between them was getting stronger. He looked back at Jack with narrowed eyes. Jack, he was finding, was quite the exasperating little beast.

“What’s funny?”

“I was just thinking how it doesn’t matter whether you believe in them or not, they got us both, didn’t they? And I always thought they were real. They cursed _you_ , tried to eat _me_. We’re quite a pair, huh?” he snickered some more. It was sarcastic, as was his way.

_We could be quite a pair._

Aster rolled his eyes, more at himself than at Jack, but Jack deserved some attitude also; him and his humor, which was terribly misplaced. It might have had something to do with the alcohol, but Aster doubted it. They’d been talking for quite a while and he was sober now. If Jack wasn’t, he was on his way. He sat down next to Jack.

“My father went missing,” Aster didn’t want to joke about this part, he hadn’t even thought about his father in one hundred years, but thinking about it now made him feel hurt and angry. Jack’s face became serious, immediately.

“Which wasn’t uncommon, I remember that, even though I don’t remember what it is he went to do. My mother said the Fae were coming for us and that we had to leave immediately. We came to this castle, our servants too, which I thought was strange. We lived here for years and when no immediate threat presented itself, I grew restless. I was bored and I was stubborn, not a good combination. I some took jewels, and… I ran away in the middle of the night.” Aster blew out a breath; he was slowly remembering that when he returned, his mother had been dead. He was starting to feel sick. He looked down at his hands (paws, whatever).

“I’d found a wife, and sometime after we had a daughter, I brought them back here. It was nice, we were happy. I didn’t know that we weren’t safe. This was before the gate, before I realized how important iron is. The Fae, they must have followed me here. I know that now. They took my daughter, because I hadn’t even _thought_ about using iron to protect her. They, of course, left a changeling in her place, we knew it wasn’t her. When it finally died, days later, we didn’t mourn for it, but for our daughter. We tossed its body out.” Aster looked up long enough to note that Jack was starting to cry, and shook his head at him. Aster himself, felt like he might shed tears as well seeing Jack, which was very strange indeed because he’d been sure that he was all cried out. Jack’s tears were actually provoking his own.

“Please don’t cry, Jack, it’s alright. It was a long time ago,” which was nothing short of true and Aster had to acknowledge, for the first time, that a century was a very long time to grieve, he couldn’t even remember their names anymore.

“I can stop,” he told Jack, though he didn’t want to, he wanted to talk about it and have someone listen. But he didn’t want to see any tears in those beautiful eyes. He was, on a level that was completely separate from his pain, touched; Jack was crying for him. He carefully, hyper-aware of his claws, wiped at Jack’s tears. He was absolutely thrilled when Jack closed his eyes and told him not to stop. Aster couldn’t be sure if Jack meant his touch or his story. He could do both. He ran the back of a clawed finger up and down his beautiful face and continued with his story.

“My wife became convinced that our daughter was still alive and went into the woods to look for her. I tried to stop her, telling her that they would just kill her, that they were trying to tempt her out there with thoughts of our little girl, and that our daughter was gone. Much as it broke my heart to say. But, just like I did, all those years before, she ran off in the night. When I woke up she was gone.” Jack turned his head even more into Aster’s touch. He opened his palm. Jack’s eyes were still closed, his lips trembling. Aster was cautious; not wanting to scratch his face, which had been miraculously untouched by the Fae.

“I was so angry. I remember being absolutely livid. I don’t know where it was that I got the iron, but I went in after my wife and daughter, killing fairies as I went, which hadn’t been my original intention. They captured me, of course. Told me that I was, as punishment, going to watch them slaughter my family. I begged them not to, to just let us go. Told them that we wouldn’t bother them again.” Jack put his hand over Aster’s to keep it still where it rested on his face. Aster’s breath hitched, minutely. Jack didn’t seem to notice.

“My wife had been right, our daughter was still alive. Which was strange because the Fae don’t usually keep people alive for very long. I didn’t watch, thank _god_. I couldn’t block the sounds though, my wife and daughter screaming for me. My own screams. But as I had walked into the woods without being lured there, they’d need my consent to kill me too and I wouldn’t give it. They cursed me instead I’m guessing so I’d either have to live with it, or let them eat me. I deserve to live with it, anyway...” His voice had taken on a bitter edge.

When he didn’t say anything else for a while, Jack opened his eyes; they were gleaming with tears, “How could _anyone_ deserve what they did to you?” It was obvious, the way that Jack had said it, that he thought Aster was probably missing a few too many brain cells, “They took your daughter, your wife, _and_ your humanity. And you think you _deserved_ this? No.” Jack shook his head for emphasis. “I think they deserved for you to go out there, iron and all, and kill them.”

They considered each other for a long moment. Aster was more grateful that he could ever convey for the fact that Jack didn’t blame him, as he blamed himself. It was nice to hear that he didn’t deserve it; he had been telling himself the opposite for a long, long time. Jack removed Aster’s hand from his face and Aster was sorry for it, he liked touching him. Jack looked at him a long while, considering. He seemed to come to a decision, a quick shallow nod of his head the only indication.

Aster didn’t move, except to open his arms, as Jack crawled slowly over him, to settle on his lap. The heat was almost painful. He could barely breathe, he was getting lightheaded. Aster thought it was a little absurd that Jack would climb on top of a monster that could rip his throat out so quickly Jack wouldn’t even know that it had happened.

_Trusting._

If he had known of all the people Aster had torn apart, maybe he wouldn’t be so quick to sit on top of him. Aster wouldn’t tell him yet, it could wait. One person could only accept so much at once. Even one this open and trusting.

He would tell him later though. He wanted to be fair, he wanted Jack to know all there was, and he wouldn’t keep anything from him, because he wanted Jack to accept him. He knew that wasn’t possible unless everything he was capable of sharing, was shared.

 “I’ve waited my whole life to find you,” Jack whispered to him. Aster had nothing to say, he pulled him closer, running his nose over Jack’s neck. He could hear Jack’s pulse speed up. He moaned softly. So did Jack.

It wasn’t long until Aster realized that Jack had fallen asleep and he, once more, was aware of how much trust had to go into doing something like that. Aster waited longer than he should have to bring Jack inside and lay him in his bed. Truthfully, Aster would have held him until he awoke to complain about it, had it not been for the fact that Aster wanted to have a look at his cuts. They needed to be cleaned, because infections from fairies were never a good thing and though they could be fought off, Aster knew it was more likely to kill someone.

Having a purpose made it easier for Aster to ignore the way he responded when he took Jack’s clothing off. He was heavily bandaged, but the skin that Aster could see was nothing short of striking. He didn’t bother to wonder about the nearly overwhelming urge he had to lick Jack’s skin; he wanted to know what that heat would feel like when it came in contact with his mouth. If, he meant if…

He took a deep breath and un-bandaged Jack’s body. The bruises were fully formed now; Aster knew he would have some but he inhaled, surprised, anyway. They were cruel marks of blue and purple on his perfect skin and worrying all the while. The scratches were knitting together, but were puffy and red around the edges. Aster hoped that didn’t mean they were becoming infected. Most cuts, normal cuts, could turn red and swell without it being any real cause for alarm, but those damned fairies were so disgusting. The bite marks were still gaping holes, Aster hoped they wouldn’t take long to heal, but he knew it would probably take weeks.

Aster wasn’t a fool and he knew what it would come to if Jack got sick. Once someone got sick from something like this, it was over. He shivered. Looking down at Jack asleep gave him comfort and resolve. Open, honest, and so damn trusting; Aster didn’t want to imagine a world where Jack didn’t exist.

When Jack was clean and bandaged Aster made himself some tea, got a book from his extensive library, and settled down into the chaise. Aster waited for more than two hours for Jacks usual fretfulness. It didn’t happen. Aster wondered what it was he was dreaming of now, because obviously like Aster, Jack wasn’t suffering from nightmares anymore. At least not right now. Aster couldn’t ignore that there was something between them and he didn’t think it was any coincidence that their nightmares would stop once they were finally together. Because that’s what the dreams were, weren’t they? A connection; one that meant they were meant to find one another.

Aster walked slowly back to his own room, thinking of how nice it would have been to crawl into bed beside Jack. Part of him, the one that was winning (though just barely), knew that he didn’t deserve to curl up with Jack and bask in the warmth they created. The other part of him was adamant that Jack wouldn’t mind, he did, after all, crawl into Aster’s lap.

He went to bed for the first time in one hundred years thinking that, maybe, although he had failed his wife and child, he could start to forgive himself.

He’d stayed up a while to replay the night’s events, the book long forgotten. Finding out that the boy he’d saved was the one who had been saving him for years, sharing himself, and having Jack volunteer to sit on top of him. It was almost too much. He smiled.

 When he’d finally started to fall asleep, he suddenly felt like he wasn’t alone. It might have jolted him awake, had he not been already thinking of Jack anyway. He opened his eyes quickly. Jack stood there, clothes to big, eyes low and tired. He looked very much like a lost child and the thought grabbed at something inside Aster, like it had before. He wanted to take care of him, but he’d known that already.

“Can’t sleep?” He asked just to be polite, because acknowledging their connection was one thing, and taking it for granted was another. Aster didn’t want to expect anything from Jack, and that was why he spoke instead of simply moving over and allowing Jack to get into his bed.

“It’s too cold.”

Aster wasn’t sure if Jack was simply after his body heat then, or if he was recognizing the heat between them. It didn’t sound suggestive, but Aster was too tired to tell, really.

“I can bring you more blankets…” Aster offered, which was true, though it wasn’t what he wanted to do.

Jack sighed, obviously too tired to play these games. Aster was starting to think that maybe he shouldn’t even bother; it was apparent that Jack wanted to be close to him. Aster had known the second he’d seen him in his room that he wanted to lay with him.

He moved over. Jack got into his bed, sliding close, tightening his hands in the fur around Aster’s neck, moving his head side to side contently against him. He wanted to laugh, this boy was _nuzzling_ him.

Aster thought maybe Jack loved him, then. Aster stayed very still while Jack got comfortable and fell asleep. His heart and his mind were both racing. He couldn’t sleep now, not with Jack so close, not with so much warmth. He hugged Jack to him, who sighed in his sleep, a slow happy sound.

He seemed to be taking this with much more refinement and confidence than Aster could manage. He wanted to question everything, and deny himself. Jack was taking their situation with a calm acceptance that Aster could only envy, and try to imitate. When he wasn’t being overwhelmed by the fact that Jack was curled up sleeping in his arms he would find it comical how he’d tried to be so cold for so long and now that he was bathed in warmth, he was trying instead to _accept_. It was a concept that nearly eluded him. Thinking of Jack helped, because Jack had tried to look for Aster before he even knew he who was, because he’d wanted to help him away from his screams, his nightmares, and now that he had found him, it looked like he wasn’t trying to hide anything. Aster was grateful, humbled, and certainly amused.

Aster slipped out of bed when the urge to touch Jack started to cloud his better judgment. He had no self control, never did, and it was slowly getting worse. He left a note by his own bed for Jack to see when he got up.

_‘Dear Jack,_

_What is it you dream of now that you’re here? Do you dream of me, still?’_

Dramatic as always. But at least he hadn’t signed it with ‘ _I love you_.’

He left water (for washing and drinking) and fruit next to his note and went downstairs to make himself some tea. It was either that, or he’d take another drink.

_What are you doing, Aster?_

It was the late afternoon whenhe heard Jack as he went outside and went back upstairs to see if he answered the note, as he thought he would.

_‘Aster,_

_You’re still in my dreams, they are so much better without you screaming. Laughter suits you, I have to say.’_

Joy ran up and through his entire body and he went outside (bringing a cloak with him) to see if Jack wouldn’t mind them taking a walk together.

When he asked, the look Jack gave him made him laugh and they walked all the way until they reached the lake.

“Good thing it’s beautiful in here, spacious too. Pretty sure I’d go crazy otherwise.” Jack told him, frowning into the distance. They had spent a while looking out at the lake, not speaking, just sitting in the tall grass comfortably. Aster was thinking, once again, how much he wanted to kiss Jack. Jack was, apparently, thinking about his imprisonment. If he left, the Fay would kill him, of that Aster was very sure.

“Sorry you got stuck in here.” Though Jack didn’t actually seem to mind.

“I’m not.”

He shrugged, placing a hand on Aster’s knee, “It had its upsides.” Jack smiled for all he was worth and Aster laughed some more. All the laughter he’d done since he wife and child were  taken had been filled with hatred and malice, a result of killing with the Fay. This new laughter, which was actually filled with good feeling, was new and Aster was enjoying the difference.

He thought maybe, if he was going to accept whatever this was they were doing, he might as well start now.

“What kind of upsides?” Aster could be playful and Jack looked delighted. He knew then that he wouldn’t be getting a serious answer and he wasn’t sure if he wanted one or not.

“Well, you know a beautiful lake, flowers, what’s not to like?”

“Oh, _really_? I was hoping you would mention something else, mate.”

“Like, what?” the innocence that came over Jack’s face was completely forced but that didn’t stop Aster from thinking how adorable it was.

“Maybe, you gumby, my flawless cooking skills!”

When Jack laughed and told Aster that he could do much better, he accepted the challenge. This, he _had_ to see.

They held hands on the way back to the castle. Aster made sure to keep his claws in and his surprise down. Of course, Jack had grabbed him and held him like he’d been doing it forever and it was the most easy thing in the world. At no point did he give the impression that he had even considered Aster’s refusal. Where Aster would have been hesitant, Jack strode with an easy confidence, it was incredible and Aster very much liked to watch Jack take the lead.

When they returned, Aster let Jack light the fireplace in the library and they sat on the floor in front if it (they didn’t need the heat when they were so close, but it created a nice atmosphere). He spoke to Aster about his family; his mother and sister had fallen through an icy lake when he was very young, his father had gotten sick recently and had never recovered. Jack told Aster how he felt about being all alone, Aster told him that he could relate. Jack nodded seriously, “I know I’m not exactly giving you new information. But it’s nice to have someone understand. None of my friends ever did, because they had hardly lost anyone. Those who had took it much better than I did. But my father, he had been everything to me and I felt so lost for so long.” Jack shook his head, before he smiled up at Aster, “I’m starting to feel much better about it all now, though.”

Aster carefully placed an arm over Jack’s shoulders, “So am I, jack…so am I,” he didn’t bother to tell Jack that he could hardly remember his own father, whether or not they had been close. If he had even mourned his disappearance. He understood loneliness, but his had come from a completely different place. He decided he wouldn’t try to empathize, only sympathize and be supportive.  Jack seemed very grateful that Aster didn’t interrupt as he tried to explain how lonely his last year had been without his father. He nodded when it was appropriate, held Jack when he looked ready to break. To his credit, though his eyes did well, he never did weep. Aster could see his strength and it filled him with pride.

They ate more fruit for dinner, which Jack assured Aster he’d never get tired of. It was believable, because of the variety of magical flavors. When Jack began to yawn, Aster suggested they go to bed, and was careful not to look fearfully at Jack at the implication that they share a bed together once more. Jack didn’t even look phased by it.

They went into Aster’s room and Jack removed his shirt, Aster tried to tell himself to look away. The smirk Jack gave him said he didn’t want him too. When Aster opened his arms to Jack, only a little apprehensive, Jack effortlessly accepted.

The way he kissed Aster was even more effortless.

He felt time stop. Jacks lips moved around his, noticeably cautious of his teeth, his hands once more clenching into Aster’s fur. There was nothing else but Jack and that delicious heat they created. He held Jack carefully and kept still, because he didn’t want to bite him. He imagined how it would be without his teeth in the way; tossing himself into a time stropping kiss filled with warmth and passion.

 _If only_.

When Jack stopped, Aster looked down at him surprised, and then they both smiled. Aster tried not to breathe, because this moment was everything, and he didn’t want time to start back up. He wanted to stay right here, with Jack. Maybe forever. This allusion to how he felt was scaring him to death. He took a deep breath, because if he was going to do it, he had to do it now.

“I think I love you, brat that you are.” He had to say something to break up the seriousness of his statement.

“Oh, you better,” and Jack kissed him again, laughing.

What followed was maybe the best sleep Aster had ever had. They stayed in bed when they woke up (it was still dark out) wrapped up in each other. They didn’t speak, comfortable to stare into each other’s eyes. 

They kissed some more (Aster managed to lick Jack’s jaw and was pleased to know that it was even more thrilling than he had imagined) and when Jack ended up on top, kissing roughly, Aster _wanted_ him. Jack could feel it and Aster knew, but the heat surrounding them left no room for him to be embarrassed, or for him to tell himself that he didn’t deserve Jack in any way, least of all this.

It was slow, and warm. Aster let Jack lead, set his own pace. Not just because of his injuries, but because Jack had much more confidence about what they were doing and it eased Aster. Jack used his own fingers and Aster was so aroused watching that he almost let go then.

He held on for as long as he was able (which was quite a while; but only through sheer force of will), and then suddenly it was all too much; Jack’s steady rhythm on top of him, one hand in the center of Aster’s chest, the other holding Aster’s, gripping tightly, Jack had leaned in close to tell Aster that he thought he loved him too, laughter and passion leaking out of his voice as he gasped, and Aster couldn’t hold it in, Jack let go too.

When Jack told him, through their orgasms, that he loved him again, Aster nearly blacked out from the pleasure.

Their breath was heavy for a while. Jack collapsed on top of him, still holding his hand. Aster couldn’t help the chuckle that followed.

“That was…” Jack couldn’t finish, sighing happily, but Aster knew exactly what he meant so he didn’t have too.

They kissed lazily until they fell asleep, and Aster should have known that it wouldn’t last.

**_~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~_ **

Jack didn’t wake up when Aster did, which was perfectly fine because he’d done that the day before. It was afternoon, Aster went to walk his grounds and gather more fruit since Jack liked it so much. He picked some roses, because he knew Jack also liked those. He placed them inside and outside of his own room so that Jack could see them when he got up.

But Jack didn’t get up.

The sun was setting and Jack was still asleep. Aster thought he should wake him though Jack was very likely exhausted from the sex; it had lasted a long time and it had been very intense. Aster smiled to remember.

He took a rose, planning to run it slowly down Jack’s pretty face until he woke, but didn’t get the chance. When Aster walked in, Jack’s face was red. Bright red; he was sweating and shaking. Aster felt his heart clench fearfully.

_No._

Jack, it was obvious, had a fever; which meant that his wounds were infected. Aster felt his vision black out as the room swirled around him in quick circles. He concentrated on not passing out, breathing deep, hands on the bed for support. It passed, but his nausea didn’t evaporate.

 _Oh god, oh no_.

He realized he was saying the words and not just thinking them. He kneeled on the floor by Jack’s side. He touched his forehead which was, in retrospect, ridiculous because it was obvious that Jack was going to be burning up. Aster had enough sense to know that the heat created between them was probably making it worse. He went to get some water, when he returned he would try to cool Jack down and wake him up, and he decided that he should try to clean his cuts though he thought it was probably too late now. He’d done everything he could think of to keep the boy’s wounds clean. Those fucking fairies, why couldn’t they leave him anything?

Aster jumped off of the balcony, as he’d done a million times before; usually he found it exhilarating, today he was too scared to feel much of anything else. The water from the well was pretty cold, because it was cold outside, but it never iced up like his lake and he didn’t know why. If this didn’t cool Jack down, he’d carry him there and give him an ice bath. He was worried about the fever; Aster didn’t know how long Jack had been up there with his body heat increasing, while Aster had thought he was sleeping. He was mostly worried about brain damage. Jack wouldn’t die today, no one really died right away from their fever, except small children and the elderly. Jack was young, so it would take a few days. Aster had grown up with these stories so he knew all of this, though he’d never seen it before. He trusted the stories now, because the last time he hadn’t, he’d lost everything. He would not lose everything now. He’d already made up his mind about what it would come to and he was only scared about not being with Jack; Aster had no problem doing everything he could to make sure the boy lived.

He took Jack’s clothes off when he returned, and dripped water all over him to cool him down.

It didn’t work. 

Swearing, he scooped him up and carried him down the stairs and to the west towards the lake. He needed to get the fever down before he did anything else. The walk to the lake was terrible for Aster because he knew he was making Jack hotter, and the way Jack was moaning in distress, even in his sleep, was pretty awful. The moaning, so different from the night before when Jack had moaned Aster’s name in pleasure, burned holes into Aster’s ears and reminded him acutely of the screaming from his nightmares. It was different though, because he could save Jack, he knew how and he was going to take the opportunity.

The lake was _cold_ , and parts of it were icy, but not all of it and he had more than enough water to submerge jack in. He left him in there for five minutes, Aster was very aware of the boys lowering body temperature, he sighed in relief, knew it was working. He dried him off thoroughly using cloth that he’d ripped off of the bed, and then wrapped Jack in the cloak he’d given him the last time they had come here.

Jack didn’t open his eyes until he was back in Aster’s room on the bed. Aster was blotting a wet rag on his forehead, trying to stabilize his temperature, their heat wasn’t really helping, but his temperature had gone down significantly in the lake.

“Aster?” Jack’s voice was soft, painfully soft.

“I’m here,” Aster could hear the tears in his own voice and he hoped Jack didn’t notice.

“Think I’m dying, fairies got me good, huh?” Aster widened his green eyes at Jack’s awareness.

“You’re not going to die, I promise.” Jack laughed weakly, it was clear he thought Aster was simply trying to placate him.

“Glad I met you,” Jack’s voice was only a whisper.

“I love you, Jack, drink something and then rest.” Aster saw right away that Jack didn’t want to go back to sleep, and he rested his hand over Jack’s eyes to close them, he went back to sleep almost immediately. Aster got up straight away, hoping Jack would sleep for awhile, because there was something he had to do.

**_~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~_ **

Aster limped back up to Jack, just to make sure he was alright, and to write something to him that he would see when he woke up. Large surges of magic could make people lethargic (not just Fay magic) and since Jack was already weakened, he would be asleep for at least an entire day. Aster wished he could lay with him and sleep too.

Aster touched Jack’s face, which was blessedly cool and not red, save for the blood Aster smeared there (those damn fairies bit so _hard_ ). He wiped him clean, and kissed his lips, which Jack didn’t know because he wasn’t awake.

It was the day after Aster had discovered Jack’s fever; the damn ceremony had taken all night. Aster knew that when he went to the Fay and offered himself in Jack’s place they would accept; they had wanted to kill him for over a century and had never gotten the chance. He asked for a blood oath, so that they would have to keep their end of the bargain once he was gone; heal Jack (which they did with a long drawn out chant) and never harm him, even if he chose to leave the safety of the gate. They’d sneered at him, cutting him all over with their jewel encrusted dagger; which, as beautiful as it sounded, was actually rusty and caked in old blood. Aster vaguely thought it was a lot of show for something that could have been simple. He just wanted his blood mixed with that of the Fay and that horrid green liquid (which they would all drink and be bound to their promise), the words spoken, and he wanted to see Jack once more before he held up his end of the deal, which was a stipulation he’d added at the last minute.

They bit him for good measure; it was not part of the ceremony, they were just being mean, but Aster was in no place to make any demands for himself. He was bloody and limping by the time they finally let him go back to Jack. The magic he could feel coursing through him made him sleepy and gave him a headache; it would eventually compel him to walk back outside and let them tear him to pieces. He knew they felt it too, but what was running through them would compel them to save Jack and not harm him afterward. Aster thought that alone was more than worth his life. He couldn’t stay, the magic wouldn’t allow him to be away from the Fay much longer and though he wanted to look at Jack and touch his sleeping form, he also wanted to walk outside on his own and die with as much dignity as was possible for someone in his situation.

‘ _My dearest Jack_ ,’ he scrawled quickly,

                        ‘ _The gifts you’ve given me, I knew I’d take to the grave; though this is much sooner than expected. I’ve offered myself to the Fay, in exchange for your life, and they graciously accepted_ ,’ Aster couldn’t help the sarcasm and imagined how Jack might smile through tears to read it. ‘ _I don’t know that I even deserved this life, deserved you; and to keep you safe I would do anything. I saved you once, even before I had seen into those eyes, and into your soul, you called to something in me that I had long forgotten. This is all I have to give, and I give it freely; my life so that you may live. Even if, in the grand scheme of things, my_ _life isn’t worth much, don’t waste it. It’s safe for you to leave the gate now, so go and live for us both and be happy. I’m not afraid to die, not like I had been afraid to live, but I am afraid of not being with you. I can’t help but wonder what a life with you would have been like; kisses at sunrise and walks at sunset, an abundance of trust, honestly, and love that I in no way would have deserved but would have cherished and accepted. I cherish everything you’ve given me. Always._

_My love and my life, Aster.’_

Aster was heartbroken to not be able to say these things in person. He knew how Jack would have reacted, he would have cried and begged and smiled when Aster had told him that he loved him. He knew also that his reaction to finding this note and Aster gone would not go over well. He’d be lonely again and Aster was frightened about what it might do to Jack. What did it matter when he would live, though? That was worth anything.

Aster kissed him once more, careful to keep his blood to himself, and walked down the stairs and out of the door of his castle for the last time. He would face this like man, even if he was a monster, and he would delight in knowing that he’d finally won and done something worthwhile.

He could see the Fay beyond the gate waiting eagerly for him as he walked into the woods. It was midday; calm and windless and he took a deep breath, thinking about how much he’d lost and how much he’d gained, and that it would be quicker if he resolved himself to not fight.

He sank to his knees and waited for their teeth, his head held high.

 

****

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End file.
